


Love Like Battleships

by strawberriesandtophats



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: M/M, Secret Relationship, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-03
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-18 01:21:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5892640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberriesandtophats/pseuds/strawberriesandtophats
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Commander Samuel Vimes has never been very good at being subtle. Lord Vetinari, however, is an expert.</p><p>Their relationship has always existed in fragments,on the edge of things, out of necessity. Only implications, never anything solid or unprofessional. And it had always been enough.</p><p>And then one day, Vimes had found himself standing in front of a small army, shielding the Patrician with only one sword and no backup.</p><p>Set after Raising Steam, but no spoilers for The Shepherd's Crown.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Like Battleships

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song: "Battleships" by Daughtry.

Commander Vimes leaned against the wall, the adrenaline fading from his body. He could hear the crowd in the next room and knew that in a matter of seconds he would have to pull himself together and talk to the rest of the Watch, to the William De Worde from the Times, to go back to work.

What he’d just done had been reckless and stupid, and absolutely typical behavior coming from him. He could already see the headline on the front page of the Times and the iconograph of himself in his minds eyes. Vimes let himself slide slowly to the stone floor of the hallway and sighed deeply, trying to get some rest, even if it was for a very short amount of time. His armor made a heavy metallic sound as he reached the floor, trying to control his breathing. His heartbeat was so loud that he couldn’t hear anything else.

 

“Until the end,“ he had managed to say to Vetinari, his voice rough as the Klatchian Prince and his army that had stood in front of the gates to the Palace were let into the Palace itself. Lord Vetinari had nodded at him, his blue eyes meeting Vimes‘own, and leaning on his silver-topped cane. Vimes had taken his position in front of Vetinari. Like a guard, like the watchman he was, Vimes thought as the heavy doors into the dance hall were opened to reveal their honored guests.  
He had found Vetinari standing in the middle of the room just a few minutes ago, surveying the vast room as if deciding if he was going to host a ball there in the future. As if nothing was wrong. 

“Good to see you, Commander,” had been the Patrician’s only remark when Vimes had edged towards the other man, feeling the sweat runs down his back and the rough material of his Watch uniform shirt stick to his body.

“Likewise, sir,” Vimes had answered and taken his place beside the other man as easily and naturally as sipping the Watch cocoa on a cold night, with the rain sliding down his armor, as easily as breathing, as if he had never done anything else. They had listened to the deafening sound outside the Palace, aware of the fact that there wouldn’t be a war or anything like it, and no citizen would be harmed before the Klatchian Prince had spoken to the Patrician himself. Everyone accompanying the Prince was there mostly for show, Vimes had thought as the Prince walked towards the two men.

Because that was the unspoken agreement between the Commander and the Patrician, Vimes thought as the Prince approached them, that Vimes would take the bullet, walk into the desert and brace the storm in order to protect the Patrician in return for the same on Vetinari‘s end. Of course, it was his duty as a policeman to be willing to lay down his life to protect the citizens of the city, which of course included the dark-clad man that strode through his dreams and nightmares. Of course it was his duty. But he was vaguely aware that this, standing here like this, was above and beyond duty, beyond what Vetinari had ever expected of him.

Vimes had faced the Klatcian Prince, whose smile had faded slowly when he saw the sword in Vimes‘s hand and the look in his eyes. The Prince had made no excuses, or attempted to explain himself. They all knew why he was in the Palace, and what his intentions were, despite the increased diplomacy between the nations.  
This was politics; Vimes thought and looked the Prince in the eyes, and something for Vetinari to handle in the long run. He was just here to focus on this one task, the one in front of him. 

The Prince had looked behind him, at his generals and various soldiers, at the diplomats and translators he had brought inside with him. None of them were looking at him. They were looking at Vimes, and the single sword in his hand. Vimes saw them look at Vetinari, and back at Vimes, as if trying to understand the situation. 

And then they had nodded at Vimes, as if understanding something that Vimes had never allowed himself to think about too deeply. Why he was ready to stand in front of this man, without any kind of backup and perfectly fine with having to fight every single one of them if necessary. Several years ago, he would have stood beside him, only glaring at them, having called for backup as soon as possible. That the reason he was doing this was something else than just out of duty, something deeper and more fragile, not based on the rock solid foundation of his duty to the city, duty to the people, duty to the Patrician. 

Whatever backup he would have been able to call would have been to late anyways, Vimes thought as he watched some of the sergeants in the army salute him and the clerks and diplomats look back and forth at Vetinari and then Vimes again, before raising their voices, talking to the Prince. They had spoken to the Prince, their voices compelling and persuasive, clearly trying to get him to back down.  
The Prince’s hands twitched towards his belt, from which an impressive, but ceremonial-looking weapon had been concealed within his costume. Some of his guards raised their crossbows and aimed at Vimes, who glanced back at them and then looked at the furious expression on the Prince’s face. These were not the kind of crossbows that would merely dent his armor; these were the ones who would kill you in a fraction of a second.

Then Vimes had felt the familiar pressure of the Patrician‘s hand on his shoulder and seen the faintest of smiles flicker on Vetinari’s face for a split second, only visible to Vimes. And whatever else the Prince had seen in Vetinari’s expression, it had made him hastily change his invasion of the Palace into a very bad beginning of a diplomatic meeting.

 

The Commander looked at his scarred hands and rested his head on the cool wall, closing his eyes. Vetinari could have handled this himself, he reminded himself, the man was an Assassin, after all. It was not like this the possibility of this ending badly for the man had been particularly high in the first place.  
He opened his eyes after a while when a shadow blocked the light and someone licked his nose. Lord Vetinari stood in front of him, holding out his hand so that Vimes could allow him to help him up from the floor. Mr. Fusspot danced around them both, whining happily.

“My apologies for the inconvenience, Commander Vimes,” Lord Vetinari said as Vimes took his hand and allowed Vetinari to help him up, even though it was just a little. “I didn’t think that the new Prince would do something quite so rash.”

“Not as diplomatic as the last one?” Vimes asked, slowing down his walk just a fraction so that he would walk beside the Patrician, who was looking ahead. He could hear Otto and William talking in the anteroom, their voices echoing. “That one understood an aimed crossbow, and I didn’t have one back there, so the sword had to do-“

“Which is perfectly reasonable, Sir Samuel,” Lord Vetinari replied evenly, “you came here assuming that I was having a civil conversation with the man, and that you would not have to stand in front of a small army, daring them to come closer to with the intent of harming me and face the consequences.”

“It’s not as if I would have attacked them unless I had no choice,” Vimes said hotly, “I would have arrested them for disturbing the peace-“

“Indeed. However, the Prince came to his senses before either of us had to act. He seemed to believe that your mere presence was threatening to him personally,” said Vetinari,” He informed me that you looked at him with a nasty expression.”

“That is just how my face looks all the time, sir,” Vimes said, looking at Mr. Fusspot, who was walking ahead of them, wagging his tail.

“Hm,” said the Patrician, “He thought that the fact that you were standing in front of me, as single man, although extremely experienced and capable one, against an army was something of a statement. I believe the common saying goes: ‘Come on if you think you are hard enough.’”

“Good thing they didn’t try anything,” Vimes said after a while, glaring at the man beside him, “I don’t have enough room in the cells for all of ‘em. They probably didn’t want to risk going against an Assassin anyway.”

Vimes had barely noticed that they had reached the Oblong Office, too immersed in what had happened. As Vetinari passed him, his arm brushing Vimes’s own he could see the fine wrinkles around the Patrician’s eyes, the faint silver strands in his hair and the faint shudder as the Patrician stepped on his bad leg.

But the man was smiling at him.

“The Prince decided that the best course of action would be to return home, at least for the time being,” Lord Vetinari said lightly, seating himself behind the magnificent desk. “I alluded to the fact that I suspected that your patience with the presence of his army was rapidly running out, as well as the fact that you consider any kind of overt attack on me to be a personal insult. 

“Good,” Vimes said, walking towards the chair in front of the desk. Then he looked up and stared at the Patrician’s carefully neutral expression. “You could have done this diplomatically, couldn’t you? Sent more of those black clad men of yours and all this would never have happened in the first place! But you didn’t…”

Lord Vetinari was silent for a long moment, and Vimes felt trapped by the glint In the Patrician’s light blue eyes. He couldn’t turn on his heel and leave, he could not escape through the window. He would have to-

“Perhaps doing what you did could be considered a very sensible choice, much like trying to fly a malfunctioning broom in a hurricane over a hostile land, to those who don’t know how your mind works, but one cannot deny that it was very effective-“

“Sir-“ Vimes said, unable to think of a solid explanation what had happened earlier on that did not boil down to something along time lines of: it’s just my job, sir. It was the only option I had at the moment and you know that, and I suspect that you knew that I would do that and you know that I know that you know that…

“They all know who you are, Commander,” Vetinari said evenly, “they know of, shall we say, your work and accomplishments over the years and would not provoke someone who aimed a crossbow at their former ruler and stuck an axe in a table in a very specific location within the Palace itself. They know that you will fight for…the safety of our city.“

“Yes, sir,” Vimes replied, wondering what the original ending of that sentence had been. He knew that was a foolish and possibly eventually fatal line of thought and the sort that you weren’t supposed to mull over at the darkest hours of the night, when sleep was the sort of guest who accepts an invite but does not tell you that he or she has decided that practicing hopping on a pogo stick to be a more interesting way to spend an evening.

“I am very grateful for your actions, Sir Samuel,” Vetinari remarked, leaning heavily on the desk in front of him, „I am afraid that this situation could have spiraled out of control very easily. Thank you, on the behalf of the city.”

The Commander closed his eyes briefly, waiting for the offer of a reward he did not want, or a title or some small object he had not known he needed. No sound was made, except the peaceful snores of Mr. Fusspot, who dozed in his basket.

Vimes opened his eyes and saw his lordship limping towards the large window, watching the horizon.  
The watchman joined him and they stood there in silence for a long while, watching the city they had lived in and protected for so very long. In the distance, they could see the steam from the railway, the lights on the clacks towers and the light from the lantern above the Watch HQ.  
And when Lord Vetinari’s fingers entwined with his, Vimes did not pull away. Instead he tightened his grip slightly. This would only last for a few seconds, a few moments stolen from the rigid rules of their positions in the city. But it was enough, to just have this, just for a few seconds longer.

**Author's Note:**

> I am having a rough time, and will be offline for some time to recover. I hope you are all doing well.


End file.
